


Flight (and Fall) and Catch

by TheHoardingPuffin



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: (not that he'd admit it), Adopted Sibling Relationship, Circus Performer Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson has hallucinations, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Has a Heart, Jason Todd Loves Dick Grayson, Jason Todd is Robin, Podfic Welcome, Touch-Starved Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHoardingPuffin/pseuds/TheHoardingPuffin
Summary: The Dick Grayson Alfred had described to Jason was a sweet, friendly, excitable boy. The Dick Grayson Bruce had talked about was gentle and sparking with energy. The Dick Grayson Jason had met was cold, sharp and dark, above all things.Jason wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t blind. Dick Grayson wanted connection, wanted touch, wanted family. For some reason, he just didn’t let himself.Or, Jason realizes his older adopted brother is not okay, and decides to do something about it. Set in the beginning of Season 2, but pre-Rose and pre-Slate.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 17
Kudos: 183





	Flight (and Fall) and Catch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello people!  
> I already posted this fic before but it was, in my opinion, in need of some serious reworking and so I took it down and added everything I forgot at 4 am yesterday, and honestly, I am much happier with it now. But yeah, basically, I have a lot of Dick-and-Jason-related feels and saw the opportunity for whump, and of course I took it.   
> I hope you like it! Comments and kudos are food for my heart and soul and creativity and are always highly appreciated.   
> Loads of love,   
> Lotta

Back when he’d been a child, he had been compared to a fox. He was always curious, always full of energy that had him tremble when he was forced to stand still, that allowed him to throw himself into every new challenge or choreography or trick as if there was nothing more wonderful in the whole entire world. His mother had used to say that he had sparks in his legs, and it was true in a way, because Dick Grayson wasn’t one to sit, he always needed something to do, something to fidget with, or a performance to work on.

Snapping wires extinguished the sparks and at the same time fanned them on more than ever. Dick Grayson was caught in a trap, unable to move, unable to run, stuck in the manor of a billionaire he didn’t know who had insisted on taking him in. The fox now had a collar.

Anyone who had known him before would barely have recognized him – the joyful bright smile was gone, and for the first time ever, one could see Dick sit completely still, back straight, eyes narrow, jaw tight and knuckles turning white as hands gripped tightly around whatever there was to hold onto.

Nothing kept him for long. He fled, over and over again, silently determined to find out who had killed his parents, who had ruined his life.

That was when Bruce Wayne had revealed himself and offered Dick to be his sidekick. To train him. To give him something to do. Dick accepted. The fox turned into a red-chested bird, a small, bitter figure in a three-coloured suit fighting besides the large, looming bat of Gotham.

Over the years, the bitterness turned. It never left. It just changed its reason. Once, Dick had been bitter to be distracted by the mantle of Robin from his wish to find the murderer of his parents. Now, he was bitter about the way Bruce had changed him, altered him for life, never to recover. Darkness that hadn’t been there when he’d been the little fox of the circus began blooming in his heart and never left until, finally, Dick snapped.

He had been a child. A fucking _child_. And here he was now, an adult, barely able to function around normal, non-superhero-people, awkward and hiding it under a shell of a cold, repellent young man that didn’t think too highly of socializing or basic friendliness. He wanted, so desperately wanted and _needed_ to drop the case with his suit inside into the ditch and abandon it forever, but he couldn’t.

He wandered away. Tried to cope.

Unsuccessful. For a variety of reasons.

First, he tried distractions. Of any kind. Reading. Training. Contact of any sort. He didn’t care who he ended up with, so long as he could force all worries and pain and all the faces he recalled from his mind for a few hours.

It didn’t work.

Then, he tried the opposite. Plunging into his work, no looking back, and abandoning contact that wasn’t strictly necessary.

And then, Rachel had turned up and things had turned around faster than Dick could realize.

He had always been one to take in strays – cats with scratched faces and birds with broken wings – and already, Gar and Rachel were important to him beyond any measure. Jason, he was still a bit unsure about. The other Robin – the replacement, whatever he was – was obnoxious with a gigantic authority-problem, and oozed of self-confidence, but it was a bit too much, a bit too flashy, for Dick to totally buy it. Sure, Jason _did_ truly love being the Robin, and he _was_ very, very convinced of himself, but ever since Trigon, he seemed… less. Just a tiny bit _less_. Less sure. Less loud. Somewhere on the way, Jason had lost a bit of his excitability and wide-eyed-ness and if Dick would’ve had to guess, it had happened in the Trigon-vision. Jason could make jokes about it all he wanted, but jokes could only conceal so much.

It hurt.

He didn’t care for Jason as much – or rather, in the same way – as he did for Rachel or Gar or Kory, but it still hurt. It hurt knowing that this kid had broken somehow, somewhere around the way. Jason was annoying, sure, but… dammit, he was just a kid.

Like Dick had been.

It was odd, being back at the tower, and comforting at the same time. Nothing was changed. Even his old trapeze and ropes were still there.

There was a lump in his throat, but he forced it back down and got to work.

The training room had high ceilings and there were hooks all the way up to attach ropes to. It had been a while, but it didn’t take too long to climb up there and get all the equipment in place. It was familiar work, work where he could turn off his head and just focus on making the right knots, ties, loops and so on.

Carefully, he tested the trapeze. Checked with some sandbag weights if it swung and carried correctly. Then, he kicked off his shoes and socks and started working his way through a familiar lengthy stretching routine. Once he was sure he wouldn’t accidentally hurt himself, and had pulled the matts in place in case he did fall, he wiped off his hands and climbed upwards, grabbed the wooden bar – and swung.

No trick, nothing. Just a normal swing. Arms straight, knees straight, toes pointed, following the movement of the trapeze itself, swinging forward, then back, until he had gotten himself familiar with the movement pattern again. He had never really forgotten it, he never would, but it was simply safer not to start off too strong. First rule of acrobatics: Don’t overestimate your abilities.

Once he felt like he could, he pushed himself up onto the wooden barrel, legs above his head, arms still stretched through. He was satisfied that there was no sign of trembling.

While the trapeze still swung back and forth, he slowly moved his legs into an open split, one leg front, one back, and then bent the knees, trying to see if basic movements still worked.

They did.

It was a comfort, if a small one. To finally do this again. He’d be sore all over the next day, he knew that, but it was worth it. The kind of stunts, even the jumping across rooftops that he did as Robin… even though he wasn’t _that_ anymore of course… were nothing against the rush of excitement that came with flying.

Because that was what it was. _Flying_.

He had missed it. And, funnily enough, for the first time in ages, it didn’t hurt – he barely thought about that night. He just enjoyed walking himself through familiar routines and getting himself into more and more difficult forms.

Moving around kept the trapeze swinging evenly, and if it slowed down, he pushed himself off from whatever wall he could reach with his legs first.

Breathing seemed easier. His heart seemed lighter. A smile crept onto his face as he went on and on and –

“Wow!”

He hadn’t expected the shout of aw from below and almost fell, but managed to balance himself into a simple split-handstand and then back into a sitting position. Below him, Gar gaped up with wide eyes.

“Wow!”, the boy said, again. “That was crazy!”

“Thanks.” Dick grinned and moved back into a handstand. The trapeze had lost its momentum, only swayed, didn’t swing anymore, but there were a lot of things to do on a still bar.

Below him, he could see Jason and then Rachel enter the training room, both looking up at him.

“Cool!”, Rachel said, and even Jason looked impressed.

Dick decided he’d shown off enough. Quickly and smoothly, he rolled forward from his handstand and let himself drop down onto the matts, landing on his feet like a cat.

“Wow!”, Gar said for the third time. “Dude, that – can you show us how to do that?”

The obvious answer was _No_ , because none of them could ever learn what Dick had acquired over years and years and years, and he also wanted to say _No_ because teaching trapeze was way different than doing it, but… there was no need to be harsh. So he smiled. “Maybe another time.”

Jason was still staring up at the trapeze. “Didn’t know this place had any of that stuff.”

Dick shrugged.

One thing about trapeze work was that unless you were performing alone, there was always touch. Skin to skin contact. Grips around ankles and wrists, tight enough to bruise, but if they weren’t that level of tight, then it was wrong, and one or all people involved in an act would fall.

Of course, they could fall even if everyone held on tight enough. Accidents happened.

But the thing was, Dick missed that kind of touch. Any kind of touch, honestly. He missed the warmth of skin, the feel of an arm around his shoulder or a clap on the back. He _missed_ it.

Missed a grip around his wrist that held him in the air, a grip of someone he knew and trusted – trusted enough for them to hold him high above the ground, maybe even without a safety net.

No. Nope. No thinking about acts without safety nets. Not now.

Dick had always depended on closeness and touch like on air to breathe.

Bruce had never been one for touches that weren’t strictly necessary.

Dick had learned that rather quickly, and at first – for the first year or so easily – he hadn’t minded, had even welcomed it, with the loss of his family still fresh on his mind. But with time, as he grew more accustomed to the life at the manor, his new existence as Bruce Wayne’s adopted son and as the Robin besides Batman, he had expected for their relationship to get better in that regard. It hadn’t. Sure, there had been the occasional hug, and plenty of claps on the back or shoulder, but never quite enough, and Dick had never dared to ask for more. Besides, there had always been more important things to worry about…

He ran a hand over his face and slowly rolled his shoulders, and moved his hands. They were, as he had expected, sore and stiff, but it was still satisfying.

_If you don’t hurt all over after training, you’re doing it wrong,_ is parents had always told him. And it was true. At least for new things in training. If you hurt all over after training something you did every day, you likely didn’t take enough care of yourself.

Dick took a deep breath and pushed all his thoughts back into a corner of his mind. He needed to focus right now. He had people to train for combat.

So he did. Right after breakfast, he talked Jason, Gar and Rachel through the rough plan of how they’d be training together. Having Jason there definitely helped – another person already trained for actual fighting situations outside the training room – and he promptly enlisted the other Robin’s help in the training. It just made sense, and Jason actually seemed somewhat excited about the task. Good. Dick could do very well without his mopey, annoyed attitude. Better to give him something to do, definitely.

For about the first week, they developed a basic routine. Breakfast, then a first training session, a quick lunch, some leisure time, another training session. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough for now. Dick couldn’t overtax Rachel and Gar because if he did, they’d end up deeply injured, but also couldn’t afford to undertax Jason, because then he’d be even more obnoxious and pouty than usual, and Dick _really_ didn’t want to deal with that.

The routine was imperfect, but it worked. For now.

For however long.

Most of the time, he made sure that the training fights would be evened out – one advanced fighter, one beginner. Jason with Gar, Dick with Rachel, or vice versa. But sometimes, both for the sake of showing off proper technique and for Rachel and Gar having a chance at landing a win, he had it switched – himself with Jason, the other two against each other. And then, of course, they spent time learning and walking through technique, movements, patterns, steps.

But no matter how they trained, there was one request especially Rachel wouldn’t let go off.

There was something about the smell of a circus. Sweat and metal and straw and salt and sugary sweetness, all at the same time. The air vibrated with anticipation and curiosity and music and chatter.

His tongue was dry, but that was normal. Everything was familiar, business as usual. The platform was cold under his bare feet, the costume hugged his body like a second skin, traces of talcum powder made the inner side of his hands appear ghostly white.

In the bright lights, sparkling like ruby, swung to familiar shapes, quick like humming birds, twisting and twirling through the air like it was nothing. It made his heart beat higher in excitement.

The moment was near, and he focussed on the bar that was heading his way. He knew his cue, and once it was right, he leapt off the platform, gripping the wooden barrel and leaning into the momentum to rotate himself, until he was upside down, legs wrapped around the trapeze, arms stretched out to catch –

He felt the snapping of the steel cords more than that he heard them, and then he was falling, falling, screams ringing in his ears but too dull for any words to be understood at all –

His body broke through the surface and he gasped for air. The water around him was cold. Gone were the circus tent and the lights, the familiar smell and sound, and had been replaced by wildly clashing waves and salt on his lips and the mere silhouette of a city far, far at the horizon. His legs and arms felt like lead, where they had been feather-light moments before… he tries to swim, but something seemed to pull him below…

Under the water, it seemed warmer than above. It wasn’t even as dark as he had thought it to be. He could see shapes floating through the water, weightless like ghosts.

Blond hair floating like seaweed. Black eyes that had gone dull and hands that had stilled for eternity. A mask, with its eyeholes staring at him accusingly. A golden rope, deprived of its sun-like glow. Remainders of feathers.

With a hoarse gasp for air, Dick sat up in his bed. His pillow was drenched with sweat.

Nobody who was, in any way, involved in crime-fighting or being a hero – or vigilante or whatever – a stranger to nightmares. It was nothing. Dick pushed himself out of bed and, somewhat groggily, got ready for the day.

He hadn’t gotten enough sleep. That was the only explanation. He was sleep-deprived. Maybe also dehydrated. The only… only explanation.

Bruce leaned against the doorway, staring at him accusingly whenever Dick’s glance fluttered over to him.

“You’re distracted”, his mentor said sharply. “Focus, Richard.”

Dick bit his tongue and set his jaw and forces himself to concentrate on observing Gar and Rachel who were going through a routine of movements. Rachel was too hesitant, and Gar payed too much attention to respecting the hesitation. That wasn’t good. They weren’t in it, not with full heart and mind…

“You’re not in it with full attention, either”, Bruce reminded him from the door. Dick took a deep breath.

“Okay, you guys. That was… not bad.”

“Liar.” Garth was sitting up in Dick’s ropes and looked down at them with an almost bored expression. “You can’t lie very well, Dick. Never could.”

Dehydration. Sleep-deprivation.

“Gar, you need to go in more. Imagine this isn’t Rachel, but someone… an enemy.”

“Your footwork needs improvement”, Jason piped in. “And Rachel, you could have knocked Gar out, like, ten times. Why didn’t you?”

Rachel just stared. “I… this is just training.”

“If you don’t train like it’s the real thing, you’re doing it wrong.” Jason shrugged.

“That’s true”, Dick agreed. “I know this is odd because you’re friends, but the way you train will reflect in your fighting once it’s for real.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that. Dick forced his gaze way.

“But you did improve since last time”, he praised. “You’ll get better with time.”

“Hear, hear”, Garth said from up top. “Maybe you’ll get better with time at being a leader. Y’know, not get anyone killed this time?”

Dick looked up and suddenly, it wasn’t Garth sitting in the ropes, it was Jericho, face pale and blood on his lips, eyes sharp, signing something Dick didn’t understand, but he understood the meaning from the expression. He looked away and cleared his throat.

“I’ll get a drink. Jason, can you take over for a moment?”

“Sure!” The other Robin leapt to his feet and right into action. For a moment, Dick envied him for the enthusiasm.

The cold water from the sink helped in clearing his head, and when he came back to the training room, Bruce, Garth and Jericho – the hallucinations, Dick reminded himself – were gone.

“Hey, uh…” Jason pursed his lips. “Maybe we could show them how it’s done properly? Just once?”

Dick thought about it.

“Come on!”, Jason pried. “Robin versus Robin!”

“That would be pretty cool, actually.” Gar was panting, green hair sticking to his face, but the idea of seeing Dick and Jason fight had him smiling brightly in excitement, so Dick gave in.

“One. One match.”

He got into position and dodged the first swing. Jason caught his fist from the first strike and Dick had do pull back quickly so he wouldn’t be knocked off his feet.

There was an odd satisfaction in fighting Jason, someone who was at least a near match to him, if not even an equal. Both of them got as much as they gave. It cleared the clouds from Dick’s mind.

“I trained you two well.”

Bruce’s voice came from right next to his ear, and even though Dick didn’t look, it got him out of balance for long enough that Jason could land a hit on his jaw and a kick to the chest.

Dick flew onto the matt and sputtered.

“Well…” He accepted Jason’s hand to get up. “That happens if you’re distracted for a second. Thanks for the demonstration, Jason.”

He hoped he could pass this off as a planned thing, but in his heart he knew very well he couldn’t fool the three.

His chest was already turning purple, and his head was pounding after the impact of Jason’s fist against his jaw. Dick gritted his teeth and pressed a bag of frozen peas against the spot.

The hallucination of his mentor had vanished, and not returned, something Dick was thankful for.

Damn it. Was he really that lonely that his mind created fake people that talked to him? Was he truly that broken that his head supplied him with the faces of people he had gotten killed, he had disappointed? Apparently so.

Fuck.

Even Dick, who had become great at ignoring warning signs he didn’t want to see, had to admit that this was bad. And, which was worse, he knew that this time, Jason at least and probably the other two too, had noticed.

He couldn’t allow himself another slip-up.

The Dick Grayson Alfred had described to Jason was a sweet, friendly, excitable boy, someone who could laugh out loud full of joy, someone who could even bring a small smile onto Batman’s face if he set his mind to it.

The Dick Grayson Bruce had talked about was gentle, smart, considerate, precise and at the same time sparking with energy that found an outlet in the fighting of crime as Robin.

The Dick Grayson Jason had seen on video tapes and had read about was efficient and humorous, with a bright grin and a great deal of energy, not unlike Jason was himself – someone with an almost inhuman agility and flexibility, someone strong and amazing and inspirational.

The Dick Grayson Jason had met at that doctor’s place was – not that. He was cold, sharp and dark, above all things. No trace of the joyful boy he had seen on the photographs Alfred had shown him, no trace of the excitable Robin he had seen videos of. This Dick was older and angry and – blinded. Jason had been convinced of that when they’d first met. He had been sure that Dick was blind to all the good that came with being Robin, and that he was so angry with whatever had happened between him and Bruce that he refused to see the good, the necessity of a tracker…

Now that he knew Dick better, knew that he was caring and gentle, he had to overthink a few of his previous judgements.

Dick wasn’t cold, he was guarded. He was sharp, yes, but the edges softened into cotton candy when you just looked at him the right way. Dick Grayson was the guy to take in a puppy with four broken legs, but also the guy to beat someone to pulp if his anger got the better of him.

Anger. Seething under the surface, anger and hurt and bitterness that Jason was sure he understood a bit better now than he had previously. He still didn’t know the full story, but something bad had happened between Dick and Bruce, and it had left both parties bruised and damaged, maybe beyond repair. In Bruce, Jason could tell now in retrospect, it showed in him asking Jason’s permissions, in alterations done to suit and gadgets, in him letting Jason drive the batmobile. He had assumed that Dick had been treated the same way, but now he knew that it hadn’t been like that for the older. It was almost like… like Bruce tried to fix things with Jason that he had fucked up with his first sidekick.

And fucked up, he had – as much as Jason loved and admired him, Bruce Wayne had fucked up a few times with Dick, and in retrospect Jason could see it clear as day.

The tracker was one thing. Back in the car, when they’d first met, Jason had assumed Dick had just forgotten about it, but then he had gotten to know him, and Dick had an amazing memory. He wouldn’t have forgotten. Now, his reaction, and the instant removal of the tiny tracking device, made much more sense. Bruce had asked Jason for permission.

He hadn’t asked for Dick’s.

He had violated his adopted kid’s trust and bodily autonomy and Dick had found out years later.

Jason didn’t even want to imagine how much that must’ve hurt.

So yeah, Batman had fucked up for sure, and tried to fix it, but on the wrong Robin. Because Jason wasn’t the person he had harmed.

Dick on the other hand – he had secluded himself, after he had left. Jason knew that for sure. He could see the difference from the Dick in the pictures and videos, and he could tell in almost every interaction with the guy. Dick was caring, but horrendous at caring for himself. At allowing himself stuff. He no doubt thought it went unnoticed, but Jason had seen him try to wrap and arm around Gar’s shoulders but then settling for a clap on the shoulder, had seen him contemplating hugging Rachel and then deciding against it, seen him think when he looked at Jason and then just cleared his throat, pat his back and told him “Well done.”

Jason wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t blind.

Dick Grayson _wanted_ connection. _Wanted_ touch, _wanted_ family. For some reason, he didn’t let himself though. Maybe he was trying to punish himself, maybe he had some weird I-don’t-deserve-it-bullshit going in in his mind, Jason didn’t know. All he knew was that it was unhealthy, and that Dick was far from being okay, let alone being good, and that it was getting worse since they had arrived at the tower.

The fact that Jason had been able to almost knock Dick out would have filled him with glee on another day, but he had noticed the older Robin looking around into the empty, as if he was seeing things that weren’t there, and how he had flinched right before Jason had hit him, as if someone had said something mean to him.

And now that was _truly_ worrying. Not that Jason would have admitted it – though maybe he should confront Dick about that whole thing. Before it got out of hand.

Before someone got hurt.

“C’mon, Dick! Please!”

“No.”

Jason lifted his head lazily as he heard the two arguing voices come closer. Next to him, Gar groaned a bit. “Seriously? She’s bugging him about that _again_?”

“Just one! One lesson!”

“I said _No_ , Rachel.”

Jason made an uncommitted sound, got up from the position where he’d been resting from their last training fight, and got back into stance. He stared down at Gar expectantly, until the other boy got to his feet and resumed fighting position as well. Brown eyes met blue, narrowed, and then Gar made his first strike. Jason barely dodged it. Good. Gar was making progress. Not that Jason would have taken the time to praise him for it, but he noticed it well.

The door opened and Dick and Rachel stepped in. Rachel had her arms crossed and almost pouted, and Dick looked – bad.

Seriously bad. A deep crease between his eyebrows and something in his eyes that Jason couldn’t identify. Somehow, Jason was sure this couldn’t just be because of Rachel’s bugging. This was much deeper. Jason felt reminded of his plan last night – confrontation before someone got hurt – and a small voice in his head whispered if he keeps going, Dick’s gonna be the one who’s getting hurt.

Without a word, Dick picked up the Bo staff he used a lot and motioned for Jason and Gar to switch partners. Gar went over to partner with Rachel, and Jason got himself a staff of his own and fell into stance across from Dick.

The _good_ thing about serious training fights: No talking required. When training with Rachel or Gar, Jason had to concentrate on how hard he hit, had to explain and correct. When training with Dick, it felt a lot more like equals. They were at a near identical level of capability, though Jason lacked in terms of acrobatics – naturally, Dick had been trained in it since he’d been like, basically, a baby. He had a good ten years more experience than Jason, and a different style, despite them having the same teacher. But that really was what made it interesting – they had the same basic ground to stand on but were different enough to surprise each other, to catch the other off guard sometimes, for the fights to be challenging and thus fun.

The bad thing about serious training fights: They meant something was off with Dick. He preferred pairing one superior fighter with an inferior one, for learning purposes or something… The mismatched matches were the ones he deemed more educational and to have more sense. He only called for equal matches when he didn’t want to talk, to explain, to teach. Which was weird in a ton of ways because Dick _loved_ the whole teacher thing. Natural conclusion: Something was seriously off, and with all that had already happened, it put Jason on edge.

He ducked a swing of Dick’s staff, jumped to the side and parried.

“Not very talkative today?”, he tried.

Dick glared and pulled the staff up abruptly, blocking Jason before going in for another strike.

“Jesus, just say _No_ next time!” Jason moved back almost a metre, raised his own staff at eye level and twirled it to the side for a block. Not that Jason would have admitted it, but he was growing more and more worried by the second.

The fight went on for… Jason wasn’t sure how long. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Rachel threw Gar to the ground, then helped him up, and they walked to the side-lines, sweat-soaked and breathing heavily. Jason, too, was breaking into a sweat, as was his counterpart, but Dick showed no sign of stopping. Quite the contrary, his strikes grew faster and more forceful, until it was getting pretty hard to parry.

Which was a _really_ bad sign. Dick wasn’t the type to over-push himself in a fight. More importantly, he never fought so hard that his partner wouldn’t follow anymore. Which – and Jason hated to admit it – was happening right now. He was being pushed to the borders of his capability, and Dick seemed oblivious to that fact.

Jason attempted to sweep the leg, and when that didn’t work, to hit close to Dick’s throat, in hopes to break him out of… whatever he was doing… without success. Dick shoved the wooden barrel from his neck and, with two quick movements, disarmed Jason and forced him back so strongly that the younger fell to his back. Dick’s Bo staff was millimetres away from his throat.

“Dick…”, he almost croaked, and Gar and Rachel called the name of their leader from the side, and finally that weird look disappeared from Dick’s eyes and he seemed to realize where he even was.

“I… uh…” He dropped the staff and instead offered Jason his hand. Jason pushed it away and scrambled to his feet.

“What the fuck, man?”

Dick looked as if he had seen a ghost. “I… I’m sorry, Jason”, he mumbled. “Are… you okay?”

Jason wanted to should _What the hell do you think?!_ but something held him back. He had been right about someone getting hurt. He’d been right about Dick being absolutely not okay.

“Should be asking you the same thing.” Jason cleared his throat, pretended best to his abilities to appear indifferent. Gar was much less subtle.

“What _was_ that?”, the shapeshifter asked, eyes wide. Rachel, next to him, just looked plain shocked. Her arms were hanging limply by her side and her hands were shaking.

“I…” Dick rubbed the back of his head, and actually seemed at loss for words. “I don’t even know.”

Jason crossed his arms. “You like, tapped out, _that_ happened! You were somewhere else with your head!”

Dick didn’t say anything, he just looked at his feet. With one hand, he slowly rubbed his own shoulder, as if he was cold… or maybe hurt. “Training’s over”, he mumbled. “We, uh… we continue later.”

Jason exchanged glances with Rachel and Gar, who looked just as confused and worried as Jason was feeling. Still, albeit reluctantly, they turned around and left the training space. Jason stayed. He wasn’t as easily satisfied or to be sent away.

“Okay, seriously now, what the hell?” He looked Dick up and down. “You’re… totally out of it!”

“I… uh, I…”

“No, you know what? I already know. You, you are having issues, which, fine, whatever, but you are too much of a coward to admit it!”

Jason was probably being unfair, but he didn’t care. Anger and worry mixed inside him and that, as was typical for him, resulted in yelling and not a lot of thought about what he was actually saying.

“You know, you told Rachel that her darkness is part of her and she’s gotta live with that and shit, but you can’t even accept your own.”

Dick stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me!” Jason stared pacing. “You, you have issues, man, and you don’t address them. You push it down and pretend you’re okay, and you blame Bruce because that’s fucking _easier_ than admitting that you always had that, that you always were dark and violent and shit!”

Dick dropped down onto the floor matt. Jason didn’t care.

“You need therapy, dude, seriously. You’re fucked up! You can’t accept a part of yourself and you blame people who tried to help you, and push everyone away and you think that… that fucking isolating yourself will make it go away, but news flash, Dick, stuff like that doesn’t go away! I would know! I’m an impulsive ass and I know that, and I deal with it! Maybe you can get your arse up and try that too, because it’s eating you up, and hurting everyone around you, and-“

He had to stop pacing and ranting to catch his breath, and when he looked back at Dick, he was shocked to find the older Robin trembling and with tears in his eyes.

Fuck. He had _so_ not intended for that to happen. So much for impulsiveness…

Jason sat down across from Dick. “Hey… I’m sorry.”

“No.” Dick’s voice was coarse and barely audible at all. “No, you’re right.”

Jason took a deep breath and looked Dick up and down again. “What’s going on with you”, he asked. “I mean, really.”

Dick shrugged helplessly.

“Is this… about the old Titans? Or maybe about Batman?”

Dick didn’t even look up. He was pale, Jason noticed now. Pale and with dark circles under the eyes.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Huh?”

“Did you?”

“Maybe… like two hours.”

“So that’s why you look so dead.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” Dick rolled his eyes, then sighed. “Please leave me alone, Jason.”

“Sorry, but no can do.” Jason looked him up and down again. “You’re like, ten kinds of not okay. I wanna help. One Robin to another and all that.”

“I’m not Robin.”

“Yeah, whatever. Still. So? Spill. What’s wrong? Because something definitely _is_ wrong.”

Dick remained silent, slowly rubbing up and down his arm with one hand.

“Seriously, I wanna help!”

“Don’t know if you can.” Dick laughed bitterly.

Jason thought for a while. “Is this… if it’s not about the old Titans… or Batman… is this about Rachel? And her bugging you? With that trapeze thing?”

He already knew the answer before Dick opened his mouth.

“It’s not Rachel.”

“But… it’s the trapeze thing?”

Dick sighed, but apparently surrendered. “Part of it.”

Jason nodded. Decided to keep Dick talking. Even if he already knew that the trapeze-thing was the smallest problem at hand, if he got Dick talking about that, maybe he’d spill the rest on his own.

“So, is this, like, PTSD? From when you were doing that acrobatics stuff the other day?”

“No. No, I… it was good, actually. Doing that again. Like I got a… a bit of home back.”

Well, that made sense.

“So… if it wasn’t PTSD… what do you mean with _part of it_?”

Dick ran a hand over his face, then sort of hugged himself with both arms. “I don’t know. Just… a lot… going on. In my mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

A bunch of emotions practically ran over Dick’s face. “No. No, Jason, this… this is my thing.”

“If it’s gonna affect you like it did today again, then it’s the team’s thing”, Jason corrected. “Y’know – because you could snap and almost-kill any of us in the next fight if you get lost in your head again?”

Fuck. No. Wrong thing to say, Jason, very wrong thing to say… “Sorry.”

“No. No, you’re right.” Dick dropped his head, hugged himself tighter. “You’re right. I… I can deal with it.”

“No offense, but you can’t. Didn’t you hear what I just said? You’re fucked up, okay, but that doesn’t have to be permanent.”

Dick stared at the ground and said nothing.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with your darkness.” Jason slowly scooted closer. “You can deal with that. We can. But you need to accept it being there. Stop pushing the blame off to Bruce. He fucked up in enough other places, no need to blame him for the one thing he didn’t do.”

Dick let out a half-sob-half-laugh sound. “Just… no. This is my thing to deal with.”

“You really don’t listen well. Maybe you need hearing aids.” Jason klicked his tongue. “Talk, Grayson. Now.”

It took a while, but somehow, Jason managed to coax the truth out of his adopted older brother (because that was what they were, right?) – the truth about his fears, the darkness and violence, the hot-headedness he had worked so hard to force down – the trauma that had never been addressed, because Dick had crafted a mask much more effective than the Robin-domino or the Batman-cowl, a mask to hide how damaged he actually was, and that went further down than just his time since becoming Robin.

He didn’t say everything out loud, but Jason was good at reading between the lines. He could hear the things Dick only thought but couldn’t properly voice.

“You know… you are allowed to be broken, right?” Jason reached out and took Dick’s hand. “You don’t have to hide that, or… or beat yourself up about it. We’re here for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to be. I… I should be able to deal with it.”

“Yeah well, you can’t though, and you don’t have to, so please erase that entire sentence from your vocabulary right now. I don’t wanna hear it.” Jason squeezed his hand gently and didn’t miss how Dick’s eyes were practically glued to the intertwined fingers.

Jason wasn’t a very touchy person. Never had been. He hadn’t minded not getting hugged or whatever by Bruce – he was fine with hands on shoulders every now and then. That was more than enough. He had sort of forgotten that other people had other levels of needs in that direction.

“You know you could have asked for that, right?”

Dick rubbed a hand over his shoulder. “What?”

Jason scooted even closer and placed an arm around Dick’s shoulders. Dick shuddered and immediately leaned into the touch.

“That.” Jason leaned his head against Dick’s shoulder and, with the thumb of the hand that was still holding Dick’s, started drawing small circles onto Dick’s hand and wrist.

Dick sighed deeply. “I’m not great at that. Asking for help and so on.”

_That_ , Jason could understand. “It’s okay. You can learn.”

He thought about it for a moment, then added: “You can ask me whenever. You’re allowed to have people take care of you if you need it.”

Words he had heard from Bruce about a week after he had become the new Robin. Words he had assumed Dick had heard too, but now knew he hadn’t. Words he felt the other _needed_ to hear. And to prove his words, he pulled Dick into a proper hug. Dick let out a sob-like sound and outright melted into the touch. Jason let him. In his mind, he was already making a plan to get the others involved into. A _Make-sure-Dick-doesn’t-go-crazy-because-he-can’t-ask-for-a-damn-hug-_ plan.


End file.
